


Baby Daddy?

by MoonRiver



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Couch Sex, First Time, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Besides, this should be a lesson to you,” Sherlock grinned.</p><p>“What? No more sleeping around with random women?”</p><p>“No. More sleeping around with me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Daddy?

John felt nauseated as he slipped into Baker Street and rest his back against the door. He breathed in and out slowly, hoping to numb his nerves. His mobile still sat in his hands and still displayed the data from the call that changed his life.

“John?” Called Sherlock’s voice from upstairs. “Is that you? Because before you settle in we could use some milk, if you wouldn’t mind slipping to the shop down the street.”

And god that just pissed him off even more.

He stormed up to his room, noting the limp in his leg as he ascended the stairs. By the time he reached his bed he was physically exhausted and mentally…shocked. His entire system was in shock. He didn’t feel quite real.

Downstairs a violin began to sing, and he was sure Sherlock had assumed the door slamming had been him going out for the milk. Wrapping his arms around his pillow, John closed his eyes tightly and tried to concentrate on not freaking out.

_I’m going to be a father._

_I am a father._

_I’m going to be a terrible father._

_I’m not father material at all._

_That’s why she’s so angry. She knows I’m not capable of being a dad._

His eyes flew open, and John realized they were stinging and hot with tears. He’d managed to keep it together while talking to her- Natalie- a nurse he had met at a bar just three weeks ago. They’d had a decent one night stand at her place, filled with lots of moaning, pounding, and very little small talk. The next day he woke up hungover and sore while she seemed completely calm and cool. He always took pride in not being the kind of guy to resort to one night stands so he offered to take her out again, but after a single, nearly silent, dinner together they decided that they really had nothing in common once they weren’t drunk.

He hadn’t heard from her since, until a half an hour ago when she sent him a picture of a positive pregnancy test. No text. No call. Just a picture.

He didn’t get it. They had been careful, used condoms, and really only had sex once from what he could remember. He couldn’t even remember his orgasm being all that great.

_From what I can remember. What the fuck was I thinking?_

_How could I have gotten her pregnant?_

But he was a doctor, he knew the risks. He’d seen this story hundreds of times before.

Letting out a shaky breath, John rolled over onto his back and gazed at the ceiling. His eyes traveled around his room, to his dresser and the posters on the wall. Some pictures of army mates on the bedside table. A journal left over from therapy was hidden in the drawer, and for the first time in a year he considered writing in it again.

Because what else could he do?

He couldn’t talk to anyone. He certainly couldn’t call his parents. His sister would probably yell at him. Sherlock just wouldn’t understand at all. Jesus, Sherlock probably wouldn’t care at all.

Actually.

That might be nice.

He could just run to someone who wouldn’t have any clue what he was talking about.

Closing his eyes, John desperately hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake before he tumbled out of bed. He entered the corridor again feeling like a coward. Here he was the bastard who knocked up a nurse and was too afraid to admit it to his own family.

Sherlock was still playing when he entered the living room, and John paused for a moment as he realized how brilliant the tune he was playing was. It was old, classical, he knew that much. He thought he recognized it. It was melancholy and beautiful at the same time, and the small vibrations of Sherlock’s fingers against the strings, the soft, careful dance of the bow, somehow made him really understand the song.

“That’s nice,” he commented, making Sherlock jump a bit. He immediately sat down the bow. John crossed over to the table and held his hands against it to steady himself. The room was spinning and blood was rushing through his head. At last he just had to blurt it out: “I’m going to be a father.”

His flatmate nearly fell over as he spun around and raised his eyes. Their eyes met, and John realized in horror that admitting this to Sherlock was far more shameful than admitting this to his parents would have ever been. For starters he liked Sherlock. He respected him. He was a good flatmate and a great friend.

Well.

He hadn’t killed him in his sleep yet.

“You’re going to be a father?” Sherlock repeated. “John…are you alright?”

John couldn’t be sure if Sherlock meant that in an “I think you’re going crazy” way on in a sincere way, but now more than ever he needed his friend to be completely sincere and supportive.

“It was a girl. A bar. It was after that case with the mum who screamed at us and the walk home in the rain. After that I just wanted a drink, and I met her. We talked. We laughed. We played darts. There were drinks, too many drinks. Her flat smelled like toffee and she had nice hair.”

Sherlock blinked, and John wasn’t sure he knew what was going on at all.

“Are you saying some poor kid is coming into the world because a girl had nice hair and her flat smelled like toffee?”

“Christ I’m an idiot.”

His hands shook as he ran them through his hair, and he wished Sherlock would stop staring because he knew he was deducing each and every thought going through his mind.

“Why did you sleep with her?” Sherlock inquired.

“I don’t know, Sherlock!” John sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Because that’s what men do. We’re pigs, haven’t you heard?”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, well…you’re you.”

It actually looked like Sherlock took offense to that.

Great, now I have to feel guilty about him too.

“Sorry, I just need someone to talk to,” he admitted. “I own up to what happened. She’s not too thrilled about it herself. She was so upset and crying and angry. She doesn’t have much money, neither one of us do.”

“Why was it one night?” Sherlock asked.

John looked up at him, taken off-guard.

“You don’t do one night stands, that’s not you,” Sherlock pointed out. “Why didn’t you date her?”

“We just decided it wouldn’t work out,” John shrugged. “We went out the next night, and it turned out when we weren’t both completely pissed we just didn’t connect at all.”

“Imagine that.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

He sank into the chair in front of his laptop and opened it up. He pulled up a blog entry and stared at it, wondering what he was supposed to do. John felt like writing: writing was good. Writing didn’t yell at you. It didn’t judge you.

But writing just made it all so real.

“I feel like an arse for being so afraid,” John admitted quietly. “I always thought if this happened I would be a man and support the girl, fully. But I was selfish. I let the fear and doubt get to me. I should be there with her, now, and at least show her that she’s not alone.”

“I thought men were pigs,” Sherlock teased. “And besides, what do you have to doubt? You’ll be a great father.”

As soon as he said it Sherlock hid himself behind his microscope and pretended to busy himself with experiments. John studied him, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of _jealousy_ in Sherlock’s eyes. Or maybe even a little bit of fear.

“This doesn’t have to change things between us,” he said.

Sherlock looked up at him.

“Of course it does,” Sherlock replied. “You’ll be changing diapers and singing children’s songs and staying up all night while the kid cries. You’ll have to get a real job and go back to practicing medicine again. Early mornings, late nights. Long shifts, never-ending weeks. I might get what, a phone call? You’re going to be a _dad_ John. You’ll have a family, a proper one. You’ll be a great father. Your father was pretty decent to you, and even though you’re frustrated with their conservative beliefs your parents certainly never hurt you. Once you go back to medicine you’ll have real money. A nice flat, a car. You’ll be a great dad.”

He turned back to his microscope, finishing his soliloquy without offering room for questions.

“You’ve thought of this before, haven’t you?” John teased.

He didn’t notice Sherlock tense up a bit.

“Thanks,” he sighed when his flatmate continued to busy himself with the experiment. “I will need you, though. God I’ll need you.”

Sherlock looked up and allowed a kind, warm smile to cross his face. John’s heart fluttered a bit, and he realized just how much it meant to him that Sherlock was there for him. In all honesty, this partnership with Natalie would probably not amount to much. He didn’t think she would truly accept him as a lover and a father, but he at least wanted be a part of the family from a distance.

Somehow, he was going to have to work this out.

“You’ll have me,” Sherlock finally said.

As soon as the offer slipped out, he turned once again to his experiment. A half-smile fell across John’s face, and he closed his laptop and quietly headed back to his room. He felt a lot more at ease as he settled into bed again, and for the first time in twelve months he took out his journal and began to write.

The next day he willingly submitted to a DNA test just to confirm that he was, in fact, the father. He wasn’t sure why Natalie was so adamant about it, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. John was right: she wasn’t ready to start playing house yet. In fact, she had barely called him at all. He felt out of the picture, and the more he thought about the child growing in her belly the worse he felt.

Then finally, a week later, he heard from her.

“Congratulations you fucking bastard, you’re off the hook,” Natalie spat. She was crying. His heart pounded as he realized what she must mean. “You’re not the father you fucking bastard, pig, prick!”

She hung up, and that was that. John stood there, frozen in the living room where he had just been talking to Sherlock. His flatmate gazed at him, waiting for an explanation.

“It appears I’m not the father,” he said, “and for that I am a, and I quote, ‘fucking bastard pig prick’.”

His voice broke a bit, and he was embarrassed to find tears sprinkling in his eyes. While initially he had been so afraid of this new responsibility it made him sick, the more he thought about it and the more Sherlock reassured him it was okay, the more he thought _I can actually do this_.

A new text appeared, and he opened his messages to find a long spiel about how Natalie was seeing someone else.

“Apparently I’m not the only one she was sleeping with,” John sighed. “Great. That makes me feel like even more of a disgusting prick.”

“You’re not, though,” Sherlock said. He had been lying on the sofa, book in hand, and sat it down for the first time as he sat up to talk to him. “I heard her. You’re not any of those things. You’re better than that. Frankly, she doesn’t know what she just threw away.”

A soft smile crossed John’s face. He’d heard Sherlock say more honest, heartfelt, things in the past week than in the past year. He could get used to this new version of his flatmate.

“Besides, this should be a lesson to you,” Sherlock grinned.

“What? No more sleeping around with random women?”

“No. More sleeping around with me.”

John froze. He felt like he might fall over so he grabbed onto the table with one hand. Sherlock gracefully got to his feet and waltzed over. For a moment they just gazed at each other, and John’s heart pounded when he realized all the honesty he had seen from Sherlock wasn’t out of friendship. It was out of admiration.

It was out of longing.

“After all,” Sherlock said softly, “you can’t get me pregnant.”

He couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. As he did Sherlock looked so hurt and confused, but John was just so…astonished.

“That has to be the worst pick up line of all time! Thanks Sherlock, but-'' before he could finish Sherlock stepped up, abruptly closing the space between them. They were nearly nose-to-nose, and John’s heart was now pounding so rapidly he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Worse, he was realizing how nice Sherlock smelled, that he had recently washed his hair, that his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a little bit of chest. John was nearly breathless as he whispered: “What are you doing?”

And he was kissed.

Kissed, by Sherlock Holmes.

His flatmate’s kiss captured his lips in a gentle, soft, embrace that made them feel all tingly. His hands went a bit numb, but only until Sherlock grabbed a hold of them and squeezed. Sherlock’s eyes were closed as he broke apart from him, relishing in the final moment of the kiss as though he were afraid he might never get it back.

When he at last opened them again, he looked more frightened than John had ever seen him before.

“I thought you weren’t gay,” John said.

He realized his cock was already growing hard against his trousers, and he was horrified to notice Sherlock was close enough so he could innocently bump against him as they shifted position. The single bump was like an electric shock to his system, and every inch of John was awakened when he felt Sherlock’s own hardness.

“Never said that,” Sherlock rasped. “You’re far too good for Madeline.”

“Natalie.”

“Whatever. You would have been a brilliant father. You’re a brilliant person John. You’re just…perfect.”

He leaned in again, and John surprised himself by not fighting back. Because…why not? Here was someone who actually admired him, who wanted to be with him. So why fight that?

John felt a bit disoriented as he raised his hands to rest on Sherlock’s arms. The hairs were standing up on his flatmate’s forearms. He wondered how much Sherlock had wanted to do this, this kissing and close talking. He wondered if he lay awake thinking about it. If he thought about it during the day. If he masturbated to it.

Fuck, where did that thought come from?

Timid, body completely stiff, Sherlock leaned forward again. Their lips seemed to attract to each other like magnets, and on second contact John basked in the feeling of how good those lips felt. They were soft, moist, comforting. A shaky breath escaped Sherlock as he attempted to deepen the kiss by slipping his tongue through. For a moment he felt like Sherlock was trying to choke him with his own tongue, but then he closed his eyes and slowed down. He stayed perfectly still as he let Sherlock explore his teeth, the roof of his mouth, his throat.

He thought about how good it will feel to touch him. How it might feel to be inside of him or- vice versa. He was so overwhelmed with all these new thoughts, with all the new tingly and heat and vibrations racing through him, that he nearly fell over. He was grateful when Sherlock’s hands clasped down on his arms to keep him in place.

His legs felt numb as Sherlock led him to the sofa without breaking the kiss. They fell unceremoniously, and John fell forward onto him at the impact.

He didn’t even mind.

Instead it was a good opportunity to lower his hand to Sherlock’s chest, to feel his flatmate’s heart pound. They broke apart for just a moment to breathe, and he was startled to see Sherlock’s pupils so dilated. Both their lips were wet, their bodies sweaty, and their clothes a bit uncomfortable.

From the hungry look in Sherlock’s eyes he knew what his friend wanted to do. For a moment he considered the irony of this- how he had just spent a week reeling from rushing sex in a relationship too quickly.

But this was _Sherlock_.

They were partners, in nearly every sense of the word but this one. They ran around London together, they chased bad guys together, they did laundry together. Everything.

Sherlock had never _not_ been a part of his life over the past year, and as soon as he realized this he felt guilty for not realizing his flatmate’s affection sooner.

John’s hands trembled as they made their way to the rim of Sherlock’s shirt, and they gazed at each other a moment before his friend nodded, giving him permission. He undid button after button while Sherlock simply breathed and gazed at him in complete awe. When at last part of his chest was exposed Sherlock quickly slipped the shirt off his arms and moved to rid John of his jumper as well.

Their chest bumped together: their first skin-on-skin contact. Sherlock’s skin was already becoming quite flushed, and John’s own body felt hot. John’s hands roamed his chest and Sherlock’s his arms as they waited for the other to make the next move.

“Sex changes everything,” he whispered, “are you sure you want to do this?”

“I want everything to change,” Sherlock breathed in response.

They kissed; it was electrifying, sparking something inside each of them as their bodies crushed together and they lifted themselves into a sitting position. Lips caressed his neck, sucking softly, and John’s eyes fluttered to the back of his head. He moaned for the first time that night and lowered his hands to Sherlock’s waistband. He dared to feel the skin of his hips, and Sherlock’s arse squirmed at the touch.

“You’ll have to show me what you like,” John murmured into his ear.

Panting, Sherlock nodded as he broke apart. He took the invitation in stride as he placed a hand against his own trousers and pushed at his erection. He moaned quietly at the touch of his own hand and pulled at his clothed-covered erection. John watched, pupils blown wide and heart racing, as Sherlock finally tugged at the zipper of his trousers and pulled them below his hips and to the floor. He was wearing simple navy blue boxers; the color looked good on him, though he was more interesting in seeing the pants off him.

Instead, Sherlock took a moment to rub himself through his pants, and John nearly broke. He grabbed onto Sherlock’s hips, dragged his hands down to his waistband, and slowly began lowering the pants down his legs. His cock sprang out, greeting him abruptly.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered.

“You okay?” Sherlock asked.

He looked like if he didn’t come soon he might crack into two.

“Yeah, I-''

“Freaking out?”

He nodded, grateful Sherlock understood without him having to say.

“It’s okay,” Sherlock whispered. “Here.”

Reaching up carefully, he took John’s hand in his and brought it down to his cock. Sherlock nodded, encouraging him, and together they brushed their hands up and down. Up and down.

“You said…I should show you what I like,” Sherlock stammered.

He brought John’s hand to his chest instead. Good. Chest. That was easy. Nothing scary there. He watched as Sherlock slowly began jerking himself off. Below him his flatmate grunted and threw his head back as he pulled at his cock, tugging faster and faster.

John realized his hand was awkwardly resting by Sherlock’s nipple. Taking a deep breath, he shimmied his fingers over to the left. Without realizing it, he was biting his lip so hard it was getting raw. His fingers brushed across the nipple, cautious about pressing too hard at first, but Sherlock moaned at the touch. So he pressed down harder, rubbing faster.

“Sherlock,” he gasped.

His eyes were glued to the cock beneath him and Sherlock’s hands, working faster. John offered a teasing thrust against him, and Sherlock threw his head back in ecstasy.

“John,” Sherlock whispered.

“Go ahead,” John said. Sherlock was getting close. Pre-cum had already begun leaking onto him, and his breath was coming in desperate gasps. He the thrust back against the couch, letting his arse brush against the cushions and back up against John. “Go ahead, Sherlock, come. I want to see.”

Sherlock nodded and groaned as his body went rigid. He came with a cry, and as one hand continued milking his cock the other reached up around John’s neck to pull him in for a kiss.

“Oh god,” Sherlock finished as the last of his release spurted out of him.

“Oh god,” John echoed.

Their foreheads crashed together, leaving John breathless and overwhelmed even though his clothes were still on. His cock was hard against his trousers, and though he was dying for his own release he was well…

_Not nervous. I’m not nervous, I’m not!_

“Stage fright?” Sherlock whispered with a grin. He kissed him again, and John felt sick. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything you don’t-''

John reached for his zipper and stopped.

“Not nervous about the sex,” he said. He drew in a shaky breath and admitted: “I’ve had sex with a man before. Just…is this really the right thing to do? You and I?”

“We’re halfway through,” Sherlock said. “No turning back, John.”

God he’s right.

He unzipped his trousers and slowly slipped them below his hips. He took off his pants next and there he was, naked in front of Sherlock Holmes.

“Here,” Sherlock said.

He would have never in a million years pictured a world in which Sherlock would be guiding him through sex. Sitting up, Sherlock pulled him forward so that their chests brushed together again. John lay completely on top of him, and he understood what Sherlock meant for him to do. Taking hold of his length, John scooted forward so that he could thrust forward, his cock dipping between Sherlock’s thighs.

The shock of the feeling of his cock against Sherlock's legs sent shivers through him. Sherlock grabbed hold of his arms to keep him in place as he slid back and forth, letting the pressure of Sherlock’s body provide the friction he needed.

“Oh,” he whispered.

He held onto Sherlock as he took his cock back into hand and began pumping.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.

He hissed and grunted as he came, dripping onto them both.

“Oh fuck,” John breathed. “Oh god…oh shit.”

Running a hand over his head, John let out a few more shaky breaths before sinking down into Sherlock again. They kissed, deep and hard. He pushed Sherlock further into the sofa as he slipped his tongue inside his mouth. He took his time, exploring each tooth, tasting him and attempting to crawl down his throat.

“John,” Sherlock rasped when they broke apart.

Their lips brushed together for a few more moments before John sank into his embrace.

“We’ll take this slowly,” Sherlock said, “however you want to do it.”

“Yeah,” John nodded. He drew in a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. “Slow is always good. There’s also fast. There’s second rounds. There’s…god are we going to start going on dates?”

Sherlock laughed.

“What just happened?” He asked.

“You practically jumped me!” John exclaimed. He grinned and leaned over to kiss Sherlock’s cheek. “Have you really felt this way about me the whole time?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to catch on,” Sherlock confessed. “Turns out I’m really good at playing hard to get.”

“I think it means you’re really bad at it,” John teased. “Though now that I think about it you do stare at me a bit too long whenever I step out of the shower.”

Blushing, Sherlock said with a laugh.

“You caught me.”

They kissed again.

“Look at you,” John whispered, brushing a hand through his curls. How had he never seen him in this way? Someone to hold, someone to have. “I wish you hadn’t been hiding. Of anything, it would have saved me a lot of money on bad dates.”

“And a pregnancy scare,” Sherlock said. “Well, for you at least.”

“Yeah…” John chewed at his lower lip for a moment. “Thank you, for being supportive through that. I feel bad for her.”

“She was sleeping with two different guys,” Sherlock replied, “and to think, she’s a nurse. God help us.”

John sighed, wincing a bit as he admitted:

“Now that I think about it, she could have made that up. I still shouldn't have been so stupid.”

Sherlock burst out laughing.

“Oh John,” he murmured, placing light kisses down his neck. “Mmm. You’re very lucky to have me.”

“Am I?”

They gazed at each other, and John wasn’t sure he had ever been so at peace before.

“Did you say you’ve slept with another man before?” Sherlock asked.

John groaned as he sank further into the sofa, letting Sherlock wrap his arms around him tighter. He closed his eyes and rested his head against Sherlock’s chest as he admitted:

“I hoped you hadn’t heard that part.”

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this idea out of my mind so I had to write it. I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading, and I'd love it if you let me know what you thought!


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